Sir Francis Walsingham (7 page)

His first experience of national politics proved to be very trying. William Cecil, now secretary to the Council and Elizabeth’s fixer, prepared draft legislation which he hoped would lay the essential foundation for a religious settlement without provoking concerted opposition. There was an embargo on all preaching until parliament had delivered its verdict. The immediate objective was to reinstate the royal supremacy and the Edwardian Prayer Book of 1552. The upper house, with its Catholic majority, was always going to be a problem but trouble immediately flared up in the Commons. Opposition to the Cranmerian liturgy came not just from Catholic members but also from radical evangelicals. The squabbles that had troubled the foreign communities quickly manifested themselves at home, ‘some declaring for Geneva and some for Frankfort’ as John Jewel reported.
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Day after day there were furious debates in the parliament chamber. Anthony Cook complained: ‘We are now busy in parliament about expelling the tyranny of the pope and restoring the royal authority and reestablishing true religion. But we are moving far too slowly . . . The zeal of the queen is very great, the activity of the nobility and the people is also great; but still the work is hitherto too much at a stand.’
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Knowing how vital it was to set the tone for the new reign, partisans argued at length and with fervour. Some did not hesitate to call upon powerful friends abroad to intervene in the debate. Thus it was that Rudolph Gualter in Zurich wrote to warn the queen herself against her own more moderate advisers:

There are not a few persons, who, though they perceive that popery can neither honestly be defended, nor conveniently retained, are endeavouring by and bye to obtrude upon the churches a form of religion which is an unhappy compound of popery and the gospel, and
from which there may at length be an easy passage to the ancient superstition.

Gualter urged Elizabeth not to be swayed by pragmatism (‘reasonings of the flesh’ as he called it):

Your majesty is aware of that saying of Christ, who declares that the
new piece
of evangelical doctrine will not suit the
old garments
of superstitions. And he also solemnly warns us not to put the fermenting and wholesome
new wine
of the gospel into
old leathern bottles,
unless we would have not only these to perish, but that to be spilled at the same time. From the experience of not a few instances in our Germany, we assuredly know it to be impossible ever to consult the peace of the churches, or the purity of religion, as long as any relics of superstition are retained.
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This was not the best way to approach Elizabeth Tudor. It is small wonder that she developed an antipathy towards those who were pejoratively labelled ‘Puritans’.

Cecil had hoped to have the parliamentary business finished by Easter but when the Commons did eventually cobble together a bill to be sent to the ‘other place’ the Lords rejected it. The session ended in disarray with nothing resolved. Queen and Council, therefore, ordered parliament to reconvene in April. Even then, it was only by some very adroit (not to say shady) manoeuvring that they got through both houses a uniformity bill and a supremacy bill (naming the queen as ‘Supreme Governor’ rather than ‘Supreme Head’ of the English church). The latter made history by being the first piece of religious legislation for which not a single bishop voted. Inevitably, there had been compromises and, inevitably, those compromises pleased very few people. There was much muttering among the members who returned to their homes after 8 May. The religious debate was far from over.

What part did Francis Walsingham play in all these events? Infuriatingly, we do not know. There are no extant records of the debates in either house. The government campaign was led by Cecil
and Francis Knollys, vice chamberlain of the royal household (one of the few former exiles to be on close terms with the queen), but what they said and who supported them remains a total mystery. However, since Walsingham enjoyed the patronage of Bedford, Cecil and Knollys we can infer two things. The first is that he was a firm supporter of government policy. The second is that he was regarded as a safe pair of hands. No firebrand he! The man who had exercised tact and diplomacy when dealing with teachers and taught in Padua could be relied on to approach the tricky and emotive problems of the emerging Elizabethan state with a level head. It was not much later that he gave this advice to an impatient Puritan friend: ‘We have great cause to thank God for that we presently enjoy, having God’s word sincerely preached and the sacraments truly administered. The rest we lack we are to beg by prayer and attend with patience.’
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The twenty-eight-year-old Francis Walsingham had reached a maturity which enabled him to balance ideological commitment and circumspection. He was quite clear and steadfast in his beliefs but he knew there were better ways of achieving his ends than trumpeting his faith defiantly in the ears of friend and foe alike.

And, in any case, he had personal concerns to attend to. Within months of his return his mother died and Francis took over the running of the family estates in Kent. The time had come to settle down and to give thought to his dynastic responsibilities. Thus, in 1562, he married into the ‘nobility’ of the City. His bride was Anne Carleill, widow of a leading vintner and daughter of a former lord mayor. This union gives us our first glimpse of another of Walsingham’s interests – merchant venturing. Anne’s family was closely involved in the recent founding of the Muscovy Company, set up to exploit trade with Russia and the Baltic. It would not be long before Walsingham invested in the company’s voyages. Anne brought with her a sizeable fortune and a young family. Walsingham now had the means to acquire a more substantial country seat in the county he knew and loved best. He took a lease on the manor of Parkebury in Hertfordshire, close by the Carey and Hunsdon estates where he had been brought up – and where, incidentally, William Cecil was a near neighbour.

Sometime in 1562 (probably November) Cecil made a memorandum for himself: ‘Mr Walsingham to be of the house’. He was forming his plans for Elizabeth’s second parliament and, in his quest for sound men, Walsingham’s name stood high on the list. When it came to the election Francis was selected by both Banbury, at the instigation of Francis Knollys, and Lyme Regis, which was in Bedford’s pocket. He decided, perhaps out of loyalty to his old patron, to sit for the Dorset constituency. Once again, he appears to have made no mark on the subsequent proceedings. This led P.W. Hasler, the historian of parliament, to deduce, ‘it is clear that the Houses of Commons held little appeal for him’.
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In fact, there is no contradiction between his earlier lack of political activity and his later prominence. The House of Commons was far from being an obvious ladder for the ambitious public figure to climb. For one thing, parliament met irregularly and only when summoned by the sovereign. It was only in session for five per cent of Elizabeth’s entire reign. She and Cecil both hoped to keep the 1563 session short. If it were not for the fact that taxes could only be levied when granted by peers of the realm and the representation of the mercantile and gentry classes, they would not have called it at all. When it did meet it was often at loggerheads with the regime. These were the years in which the House of Commons was learning how to flex its muscles, to challenge government policy, to ask awkward questions and to demand answers. There were three areas of policy in particular which concerned MPs: religion, foreign affairs and the succession (i.e. the queen’s marriage). Since Elizabeth regarded all these as prerogative matters, potential conflict was in the air every time the members filed into the old St Stephen’s Chapel. All in all it is not surprising that Walsingham should regard attendance in parliament as a duty to be performed rather than an opportunity to further his career. Add to this the fact that he later showed himself to be a man who preferred the corridors of power to its public platform and his absence from the records in the 1560s is adequately explained.

He was prospering materially and accumulating property during this decade. Anne Walsingham died after only two years of marriage, leaving a handsome bequest to her husband and, after a decent period
of mourning, he paid earnest court to Ursula Worsley, another widow who was mistress of substantial lands. Her late husband, Richard Worsley, had been Captain of the Isle of Wight, lessee of the lands of Carisbrooke Priory and owner of Appuldurcombe and Woolverton manors, as well as estates in Dorset and Wiltshire. Walsingham’s eager pursuit of this prize began within months of Richard’s death for we find him writing, in October 1565, to Sir William More, the Worsley executor, asking him to persuade the lady from ‘her resolution of sole life’.
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That process apparently took some time, for it was another eighteen months before Francis and Ursula were wed. Almost immediately Walsingham gave up his Hertfordshire residence and settled with his enlarged family (Ursula had two sons) in the substantial Worsley house at Appuldurcombe. His application for the lease of Carisbrooke Priory indicated his determination fully to occupy Worsley’s shoes.

Walsingham’s decision to move his base to a place far distant from the court and from his own home turf was not made on solely financial grounds. In fact we can detect in this move early evidence for his involvement in that Protestant expansionist circle which revolved around Robert Dudley. The Isle of Wight was a crucial bastion in England’s defence system. It guarded the approaches to Portsmouth and Southampton and from there watch could be kept on traffic passing up and down the Channel. Its coves and inlets were useful places where clandestine visitors from France could be landed. In addition Carisbrooke Castle was a secure prison within whose stout walls men could be ‘persuaded’ to yield up any information they might have concerning potential threats to the realm. It was, therefore, vitally important to the government that the Isle of Wight should be in safe hands.

At the end of 1565 the captaincy of Carisbrooke Castle was entrusted to the soldier-diplomat, Edward Horsey. Horsey was a bluff, bold, unscrupulous patriot – and a died-in-the-wool Protestant. During Mary’s reign he had not only gone into exile, he had also been a prime mover in the Dudley plot. In the early days of the new reign he attached himself to Robert Dudley and through him gained the somewhat reluctant favour of Elizabeth. Very soon he had ships
scouring the Channel for enemy vessels and for easy prey whose cargoes he could appropriate. He was, therefore, one of the first Elizabethan sea dogs, those adventurer-pirates of whom the queen officially disapproved and unofficially found very useful. Before the reign was more than a few years old Horsey served the queen in various military and diplomatic situations. He was a patron of Calvinist clergy and, in 1562, secured the appointment of William Whittingham, erstwhile colleague and supporter of John Knox, as chaplain to an army sent over into France. Horsey was committed to the policy of England’s making a common front with the Huguenots against the Catholic Guise faction which dominated the French court. Someone else who advocated the same policy was Elizabeth’s first ambassador to France, Nicholas Throckmorton, who managed to enjoy Elizabeth’s favour despite his firm and firmly expressed Puritan opinions. These men were well known to Walsingham (Throckmorton had held the Lyme Regis parliamentary seat in the 1559 parliament) and, by 1565, they were already part of a political grouping which would become more confident and vociferous over the years. They were all concerned for the security of the realm and well understood the military and naval importance of the Isle of Wight. Walsingham had influential support in his suit for Ursula Worsley’s hand.

By no means did he spend all his time in the country. In the spring of 1568 he exchanged the old family house in St Mary Aldermanbury parish for a more commodious town residence beyond the city walls, close to the church of St Giles Cripplegate. Here, a short walk from the open country of Moor Fields and Finsbury Fields, he was away from the foetid airs of the close-packed metropolis yet near enough to the court when his advice was sought or when he was called upon to execute some commission for Cecil. It was only a few months later that he wrote a letter to the secretary which has often been referred to as the beginning of Walsingham’s public career. In fact, the contents make it quite clear that Walsingham was by now a well-established confidant of Cecil, specializing in foreign affairs. He wrote the letter at the behest of Throckmorton, who was too ill to attend to the matter in person. That, in itself, tells us that Francis was a trusted intermediary
likely to be listened to seriously by Cecil. A messenger, Robert Stewart, had arrived from the French Huguenot leaders with vital information but Elizabeth had refused to receive him. Stewart was known as a plain, outspoken Calvinist who could not trouble himself to master court etiquette. What he regarded as earnestly pleading God’s cause (ie the Huguenot cause) Elizabeth interpreted as presumptuous preaching. Moreover Stewart’s message was one Elizabeth had not wanted to hear. She was not prepared to intervene in France on the Huguenots’ behalf. Thus it was that Throckmorton pleaded on the messenger’s behalf. Walsingham, passing on his friend’s appeal, apologized for Stewart’s unsophisticated behaviour but insisted that queen and Council could not afford to neglect the information he brought across the Channel.

In December Walsingham wrote again to Cecil, this time on his own behalf, to pass on intelligence which had come direct to him. He explained that he could not vouch for the accuracy of the information but:

Weighing [the informant’s] earnest protestation of the credit of the party it came from, the nature of the matter as of the greatest importance, the malice of this present time, the allegiance and particular goodwill I owe to her majesty and the danger that might come to me by the concealing thereof if any such thing (which God defend) thereafter should happen, I saw in duty I could not forbear to write . . . I beseech your honour that I may without offence conclude that in this division that reigneth among us, there is less danger in fearing too much than too little and that there is nothing more dangerous than security.
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